I wake up in the morning and wonder
why I’m still in bed. I used to take my
time, listen to a meditation audio and plan my day. I used to like my mornings, but now I feel
like I should get up the second my eyes open, and I realize that I have trouble
wanting to go to bed at night no matter how tired I am.
I get up and look at the
floor. When I go into the bathroom I
glance at the threshold. When I pass the
guestroom I check out the bed.
When I start to arrange my day in
my head my timetables are at odds. I
don’t need to limit my time out. I have
more time to get ready for work and I don’t have to worry about coming home at
a particular hour. I can leave the house
and take my time coming back, so why worry about a schedule?
She isn’t here anymore. I don’t have to consider her in my plans
anymore.
I go downstairs and look at my easy
chair. I can take the cover off of
it. That fence around the birdcage to
keep the bird out f reach can go downstairs.
The bowl I’ve been stepping over and sometimes into can get put
away. It feels odd to reach for my
snacks or the bird or the kitchen sink without having to stretch over something
on the floor. It feels strange to move
around the house without having to be constantly aware of the area around my
feet. I can go down the stairs without a
second thought. I’ve got nothing to trip
over other than the junk I left on the stairs.
Because she isn’t here anymore.
I don’t have to rush home straight
from work. I don’t have to make special
trips to the pet store. When the bird
throws food on the floor I don’t have to worry about it, though I do spend a
lot more time cleaning up after her these days.
There’s nothing between me and the stove, between my butt and the couch,
between me and the door when someone knocks.
My kitchen counter is less cluttered with treats and toys.
My dishwasher still needs cleaning
out, though. One day I’ll have the heart
to open it and take out the boxes and bags of treats that I store there. I wonder briefly on a daily basis if my
neighbor across the street could use them.
And the basket of toys in the family room – should I take them to the
shelter?
Back to my morning doldrums: I
finally realize that I didn’t get my good morning hug. Last night I didn’t get my comfy lap
cuddle. I don’t go out for a before-bed
walk anymore and when I go to bed at night I feel like I’m forgetting to do
something. There’s an important chore
I’m not accomplishing. I’m going to have
to find another way to begin and end my days.
I don’t have to fight off a tongue
bath or let anyone out to pee. The only
creature waiting for me is the bird in her cage. Even though she is glad to see me, she’s
useless as a cuddle bug; she has a tendency to bite me when I get too
friendly.
My mood is low. I have no feelings of accomplishments, no
appreciation, no adoring stares; no one is waiting for me to get off my butt
and do something worth watching.
No one is looking through my grocery bags or sneezing at me for attention.
My plants in the backyard are
thirsty. My tomatoes are ripening
without me. I don’t go outdoors to do
poop patrol any more.
It’s just the bird and me now. She’s irritating me because she always has to
be with me these days, hanging over my shoulder, following me around the house
and nagging at me. Apparently she has a
lot of things she doesn’t have to do either, so I’m her only source of
entertainment.
Jolene is gone. Her illness was unexpected. The silence around the house was
unexpected. I never suspected that I’d
be de-dog-proofing the house this week.
I wasn’t ready for her absence, and it’s still hitting me.
She isn’t here anymore.
Damn it.
